Illusions
by Itakru
Summary: They say what you don't know can't hurt you, or can it? Oneshot


It was over. At long last, the deed was done. His shadow, once a demonic parasite upon his very soul, would soon be gone forever, dead. But why? Why did that sick reflection of his smile so? A poisonous anger uncoiled from his heart, and Malik seized the dying creature by the neck, ignoring the hot blood that pooled over his fingers. The shadow laughed, as though the fingers pressed into his quickly paling throat meant nothing.

"Why in Ammit's name are you laughing?! Stop it! You're dying, like you deserve!" Malik shouted angrily, exacerbating the fatal wound in the spirit's stomach as he gave his twin a firm, harsh shake. But the spirit just kept grinning, his dulling eyes still alive with their insane fire, and the boy squeezed harder, trying to put that frightening flame out.

He didn't hold his fingers like that for long as his frustration and anger gave way to fear. That demon was dying! There was no way he still had some way to survive or possess someone else! He wasn't immortal, he hadn't even won this battle! So why in Set's name did he seem so thrilled?!

"Because. . . ." the maddened reflection began, as if hearing Malik's thoughts. "Look at all you've had to do to accomplish this, little tombkeeper." The glint grew brighter, his smile wider. "You clearly don't need me to be a monster."

"I'M NOT A MONSTER!" Malik screamed, unable to stop himself as he threw the body to the ground. "I'm not anything like you!" He dug his heel into the spirit's wounded gut, eliciting a satisfying scream from the dark entity. They were nothing alike! And he'd prove it! The spirit would admit it, he'd admit and he would beg for death before Malik was through with him! He'd make him pay for everything!

The blonde could still vividly recall the first time he'd actually learned of the demon's existence-a creature born of his own fears and sorrows, that knew all too keenly what suffering was and how to inflict it, and had used Malik's mistakes and guilt against him. He could still remember the struggle he went through against the possession, how it had taken all of his willpower and more to free himself from the eternal nightmare he had been trapped in, and still it threatened to overwhelm him even to this day. His father's pleas were a neverending tune.

Another soft chuckle sounded deep within the demon's throat. "How desperate you are to reassure yourself, little tombkeeper," his voice mocked, "but there is no ignoring the truth." His grin spread as Malik angrily grabbed him by the throat again, and his form began to slowly fade away. "You've always needed me to handle what you cannot."

Almost as soon as he had grabbed the spirit, Malik let go again, his eyes widening in terror as he stepped back from the thing he had been holding. Blood pooled in a viscous collection on the dirty floor from the victim's back, which was missing a considerable section of skin and flesh. It was not the only wound-many others marred the older man's tanned skin, but most prominent of the was the cut in his stomach, which granted a view of his innards that left little to the imagination. Malik cupped his bloodied hands to his mouth, trying not to scream as his eyes looked upon the deceased's face.

"N-no. . . . No! No no no! You're lying!" Malik cried desperately. "Stop it! Stop this! I know this is just one of your illusions, you can't fool me!" Except deep in his heart, he knew that it wasn't. The mangled and tortured man sprawled on the ground was very real, and the demon had not really been there at all. But Malik refused to acknowledge it. The blood on his hands belonged to that wretched creature, not him! He didn't do this! He couldn't have! But Rishid's wide and frightened eyes accused differently.

"You see, Malik? You and I are not so different after all. . . ." the darkness whispered. "Let me take the blame, your hatred, your sorrow, your regret. I can give you what you need. . . ."

It was too tempting to resist, even though he knew better. But, Malik thought as he sat there shivering, perhaps this was how it was meant to be. He had tried and tried for years to escape the darkness, and had failed again and again. It was impossible to escape the darkness-perhaps, he thought, it was even divine punishment for his sins. It didn't matter-in the face of reality, darkness was a blissful escape. The image of his elder brother faded as blackness blanketed his vision, but the blonde did not fight. What was the point anymore? It was always the same. . . .

"Sleep, little tombkeeper," the darkness cooed. "Sleep, and fade into oblivion eternal. I will always protect you."

The darkness could never be destroyed; it could only be defeated and return stronger and smarter than before. Marikku smiled wickedly as he picked up the mannequin and dusted it off, humming a tune as he wandered his way out of the old warehouse. What Malik didn't know wouldn't hurt him.


End file.
